face with the back of one hand and staring at us, "specially the
breath."

He was a fierce-looking little fellow, scarcely more than a half-grown
boy in size, with round, red face full of strange wrinkles, and head as
oddly peak-shaped as I ever looked upon. It went up exactly like the
apex of a pear, while the upper portion was utterly bald. He formed a
most remarkable contrast to the tall, raw-boned, angular female who
loomed up like a small mountain just behind him.

"I reckon as how you uns hed quite a bit of a scrap afore ye laid thet
thar dorg out, stranger," he said, a half-angry tone lurking in his
deep voice. "'The fleetest hound in all the North,' an' I'm durned if I
jist likes ther way you uns makes yerselves et hum in this yere cabin."

"Shet up, Jed Bungay," cut in his better-half, sharply, and as she
spoke she caught the little man unceremoniously by one arm, and
thrusting him roughly to one side strode heavily forward until she
paused in the centre of the room, facing us with her arms akimbo.

"Now I'd jist like ter know," she said savagely, "who you uns be, a
breakin' into a house, and a killin' a dorg, an' a eatin' up everything
we uns got without so much as a sayin' 'by yer leave' er nuthin'. I
reckon as how you uns don't take this yere cabin fer no tavern?"

The wrinkled red face peering cautiously around her ample waist line
made me wish to laugh, but an earnest desire to placate the irate
female, who was evidently the real head of this household, enabled me
to conquer the inclination and answer gravely.